But first Our Cat.
I always said that if I had a cat, it would be a black cat. Some of you might remember my two black cats, Serafina and Petronella. London is a city. In the city people wear black. So - it follows, black cats. Well, on Greek islands, you don’t choose the cat, the cat chooses you. Crete is an island and the cat that chose us is mainly white. We still wear black clothes, especially Al, especially in Winter. Our Cat is mainly white. He is shedding. He is not crazy about being groomed, although he likes to bite the brush. I will spend the rest of my life wiping our clothes down with a damp towel. No plan survives encounter with the enemy.
Since I wrote this I have had a minor disaster with the vacuum cleaner. Never try to vacuum out fireplace ashes WITHOUT A BAG IN THE VAC. Τηε Μiele I have had for several years will be going into hospital next week! So cat hair triumphs. I think a robo-vac is on the cards.
Back to the Ticking Bomb, as Al referred to himself. We didn’t understand at the time just how loud that tick was and how serious the bomb. During the period of waiting, he began to take little forays out; he discovered the coffee shop in the basement of the hospital, the garden on sunny afternoons, the balconies around the wards. A few days before the operation, the nurse in charge told him it was dangerous for him to go ANYWHERE, but he still snuck out to get a coffee. I tell you this because I think neither of us were completely aware of just how short a fuse he had.
So to the the day of the operation. I am in the waiting area, outside the lifts, next to the ICU on the 4th floor. It is now after 11PM, more that 45 minutes after Al had been wheeled past me. After some more time, someone, probably a nurse, came out from the security doors and told me I could come in to see Al, but I had to speak to the doctor first. Not just the doctor, but other members of the team also in the office. Empty chairs. Which one? After what seemed a long time of orientation I sat opposite Dr Kiparakis, Al’s surgeon. He explained how the elegantly planned operation did not at all survive the encounter with Al. I think he said later that it was one of the most stressful times in theatre he had ever had. The good news - Al is alive. But he had gone into cardiac arrest at the beginning of the operation, and the concern was that even with heart massage and later a swift transition to bypass, his brain had potentially suffered a dearth of blood, and therefore oxygen. I said ‘fuck’. There was a beat before I asked ‘How long?’ And someone said ‘7 minutes’. That seemed like a long time. I think the anaesthetist said that they had done all they could to protect the brain, using open heart massage but the worry was that there could be damage that would not become apparent until they were able to wake him, noon the following day, at the earliest. The double bypass that had been planned had simply been ditched in favour of speed, and a single bypass using a leg vein. (We later found out that there had been 2 heart stopping moments - but that was probably judged too complicated for all our states at that time). There might have been more. I might have thanked the doctor for saving Al’s life. I really don’t know.
Someone walked me out, back to the waiting area. The thumbs up man was still sitting there. It was maybe an hour later that the door opened again and I was called back in.
They took me down the corridor, gave me a plastic pinny and took me through the door into the ICU. Al was in the prime spot, next to the door, opposite the nursing station. I suppose I was expecting the tubes, the airway pump etc so that was no surprise. Of course he was not awake, still under heavy sedation. I talked to Al about the music he’d written, about our future, about how he would be well again. I touched his shoulder. His skin was cool. After a few minutes I left - there’s no staying in the ICU and because of Covid, I felt lucky to be there at all. Back outside I zombie my way back down to main reception, out to the car. What just happened? I thought we were safe. I thought this was a straightforward operation. But the ticking bomb had actually exploded. I had to get back to my temporary home. It was after 2am when I got into bed. I expect I cried. The cat and I slept for a couple of hours. At 4am of course I was awake, trying not to think about all the bad things that could happen. I was wearing a little leather bag of stones that Al always carried around in his backpack.
In the morning I went back to the hospital. I must have called Tina and asked her whether she could get a clear story about Al - when they would wake him etc. Communication with the hospital had often been difficult, even with English speakers, it has been difficult sometimes, to get to the right person, and when you do, to ask the right questions. She spoke to a female doctor in the ICU who explained again what had happened and said that they would wake him in the late afternoon, and see if he could move all his limbs. They would not try to get him to speak. I was allowed to see him again briefly. I talked a little bit, but of course felt completely choked, not knowing whether it was really him that I was talking to.
Back outside the ICU, no point in staying opposite the lifts again, since they were clear that I wouldn’t be able to see him again that day. Home again, I got a call from Tina saying that she and Eleni were coming to Heraklion. No argument. (Tina and Eleni are our friends from Marediana - initially our hosts for the village house we rented in 2020). I told them where to meet and fell asleep on my bed. At 1730 the phone rang next to me. Tina and Eleni were parked in the street around the corner. I went out, found them, we re-parked their car, and sat in the sun around the table outside the little house where I stay. They brought containers of food from Despoina, Tina’s mother. I can’t imagine how she produced so much at such short notice. They petted the cat, delighted to be outside, with company. After an hour or so, we headed over to the hospital. We parked the cars side by side in the informal car park at the roadside, with doors open. It was beginning to be chilly outdoors. The main plan was to speak to the doctor to see the result of the wake up. At around 1900 Tina called the ICU and spoke to the doctor at some length - she’s good at extracting information. Al had been woken and was able to move arms and legs. He knew I was close by. Impossible to explain that feeling. The whole visit had buoyed me up, almost literally as if they were on either side of me, supporting my head above water. They stayed and we talked for a while, then they set off for Kissamos, and after a few minutes I left for home, ate some food, had a hot shower and went to bed with a happy cat. I really didn’t know how much I needed the company of friends. They left me feeling optimistic about how Al would be the next day.
Waking
The next morning - now Saturday 19th February - I went to the hospital so that I could be close by when they woke Al and spoke to him. I arrived around 1030 and Dr Kiparakis came out - here we are by those lifts again - and told me that Al was speaking, knew I was at the hospital, and would be moved down to the ward on the floor below in a couple of hours.
I wasn’t ready for this! I went down to the ward below just to check on the timing. They were expecting him in an hour, they said. What did I need? What should I bring? I asked - the nurse said, just bring water.
Maybe it just didn't feel like the right time for photos - I don't really have any photos of this time, except one of Al with all his tubes and wires and I don't want to share that.
The Hospital Tapes
During the time I was waiting for Al to reappear from the lift after surgery, I listened to the music he had been writing, and I would like to share those tracks, there’s also his account of his experience in the ICU. It’s quite distressing, but I am sure it has a resonance for any of you who have experienced this form of post operative care.
Al's Hospital Tapes and a description of the ICU
Coming next: Days and Nights in ward 47
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